Thy Kingdom Come
by pussycatwithattitude
Summary: WW1 AU, 1916. Sergeant John Bates has been severely injured in the line of duty at the Battle of the Somme and is sent to a rehabilitation hospital back in England where he meets Nurse Anna Smith. Will she be able to bring him out of the shadows? Will he allow her to help him on the road to recovery?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hi guys! I've been working on this for quite a while now, and the idea came from the research I've done for one of my University projects, so I hope most of the facts will be correct. I guess this will be a hard-hitting story, but I hope I've managed to do it sensitively enough. Please do leave me your thoughts if you can, I'd really appreciate them, I've been very partial about writing/posting this.

So this is a WW1 AU, where John was not injured during the African Wars and therefore is able to fight, and was never at Downton. Neither was Anna. Rating is T for the moment, possibly moving to M at some point, and as usual these characters and anything that you recognise will probably belong to Julian Fellowes, ITV etc. Although after this latest series I'd love to steal them from him.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of it.

* * *

><p><strong>Thy Kingdom Come<strong>

**Chapter 1**

* * *

><p><em>France, October 1916<em>

Pain.

All he could feel was a searing, blinding pain, riding up his leg inch by inch. It was almost as though something had manifested itself beneath his skin and wanted to give him no respite. It felt like a pain that was never going to go away. He had never felt anything like it before.

His vision became blurred and the ground was rising in the air around him, spitting the dirt back at him. It was creating a bellowing cloud and he could feel the mud splattered across his face as he attempted to open his mouth and call for help. It was his first instinct.

He heard nothing leave his mouth. All he could sense was the pain as it ripped through his leg. As he attempted to move and reach for the area around his right knee he found himself unable to move. He could distinctly feel the weight of another man on top of him, obstructing his movement. He was trapped. As he let his head fall back into the muddied ground, marked with rain water and everything else, his eyes searching frantically as he tried desperately to see through his blurred vision, he heard a voice calling for him.

He thought he recognised the voice. William. A bit of a ditsy Private but a good lad. He had a soft spot for him. Then he could hear Captain Crawley. He was shouting at him to speak, to say anything. He seemed to be close by.

The pain then cried out once more and he wanted to scream. He thought he might yell but once more he found that nothing left his lips. He couldn't speak.

The last thing he remembered before he fell into the dark pit of his consciousness was the pain.

* * *

><p>When he woke up John felt numb. It took him a while to regain any of his senses. The first that seemed to come back to him was feeling, which was funny because he felt nothing. He felt numb. Then he could smell. He would rather not have been brought back to that smell. He could sense the disinfectant, but mostly he could smell the blood. The bodies. He had grown used to that smell in the trenches. He had little choice but to in France.<p>

Then he began to hear again: there were female voices all around him and a few hollowed cries of men. It was a harsh sound to wake to. And the all too familiar explosive noises in the background.

Then he opened his eyes and the fabric of the tent came into view.

He knew he was in the field military hospital. He had been here before to see some of his privates. That was when the panic began to rise through his body. He briefly remembered the pain... the mud and the voices. But mostly the pain.

He found his hand moving down to his leg, feeling for the source of the pain. He felt nothing.

That was when he cried out.

It all happened in a hurry. First he was yelling and struggling to sit up in bed and next he was being pushed back down. He was being told to calm down. He cried out.

He felt a needle prick his arm and within a few moments the panic was gone.

* * *

><p><em>One week later<em>

_November, 1916_

The next time John woke up the smell had gone. That was the first thing he sensed this time. It was also quiet, save for the gentle hum of conversation floating around him and an occasional chirping that sounded a lot like birds. It was not usual to see or hear birds in France. They liked to be elsewhere. He could hardly blame them. Then he heard the sound of men's laughter faintly in the distance.

John frowned in his sleep. His eyes were still closed.

There were no loud bangs. That was strange. Just the occasional scrape or click of a heel against a tile floor. John also swore he could feel a light breeze crossing his chest. The bed was also comfier than he was used to.

No one was shouting.

He shifted to his side as he struggled to open his eyes. It was then that he felt a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Sergeant Bates?"

The voice was soft. Soft but firm. It had a recognisable accent. Yorkshire, maybe. Definitely not London. Definitely Northern. It was sweeter than the sounds he was used to waking up to.

John attempted to open his eyes. As he did the brightness of the room blinded him temporarily and he tried to shy away from it.

"That's it," the voice encouraged him gently. He felt a hand on the back of his shoulder now, almost helping him to sit.

His throat suddenly felt extremely dry.

"Water," John managed to croak. He then felt the hand pushing him forward as he adjusted his eyes while another brought the rim of a glass to his lips. The liquid was a relief in his mouth and his throat felt a hundred times better already.

"You're certainly a sight for sore eyes. Your mother has been so worried."

The mention of his mother stirred the usual feelings in his chest. He remembered the latest letter he had sent and received from her – it had been a while. But if his mother had been mentioned, if she had visited, he must no longer be in France. He must be back in England, in London maybe. He blinked even more rapidly to adjust his sight.

The first thing he seemed to notice was that this place was clean. It smelt good. Then he recalled the field hospital, and a boat trip.

Now that he thought of it he did remember parts of the trip back. It made a little more sense now. They seemed like hazy memories now, like brief flashes. He recalled that he might not have wanted to be awake. He remembered being transferred: the back of an ambulance as it shook along the make-shift roads from the trenches. The pain. He remembered crying out, not just because of the pain in his leg but because his mind was hazy. He couldn't understand any of it.

"Lord Grantham made sure you came straight here." Captain Crawley, now he remembered some of it. He remembered Captain Crawley being right in the line of fire... he remembered leaping across to shield him... The voice came once more and now that his eyes had fully adjusted he could see the outline of her face. Then he focused more. She looked young, younger than him at any rate. Blonde. Thin. Too thin his mother would say.

He had no idea where 'here' was but he hoped to find out. As he turned his head from side to side she seemed to understand his predicament.

"You're in Queen Mary's Hospital, Sergeant Bates." He briefly recalled the name. Roehampton. London. "You're in safe hands. Not to worry."

John had no idea what his future held. Why he needed to be in safe hands. He had no idea what had happened. He only remembered the pain. But he did know something. She had the voice of an angel.

He had no idea she would be his saviour.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Big, big thank you to testship for all the help with this. I promise the next chapter will be longer too. Please let me know what you think :)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thank you very much! Some more characters are introduced in this chapter, a lot of them from the show. Others will appear throughout the story, although I don't see them playing a huge role. Mother Bates will also feature heavily from the next chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>Thy Kingdom Come<br>****Chapter Two**

* * *

><p>Once he had woken up and recovered enough to think for himself, he heard the nurse - for she was a nurse, that much he could gather from her uniform and their surroundings - calling for the doctor. A Doctor Clarkson or other. Another nurse replied, this time with a much more Southern accent, and said he would be along within the next ten minutes.<p>

"Nothing to worry about, Sergeant Bates. Just to make sure you know what's going on." The nurse turned back around to him and smiled.

It was the sort of smile that could cure thousands.

"I'm Nurse Smith."

John felt himself nodding. As he listened to her talking and explaining things to him, he suddenly started to recall some of his memories of the past week.

The pain in his leg – the biting pain as it had risen up his leg.

_What had happened?_

"My leg..." He mumbled suddenly in realisation. Using all the strength he could muster John reached down to his leg that was covered with the bed sheets, but found nothing. Confusion turned to panic. "My..."

"Calm down, Sergeant Bates. Doctor will be along soon to explain."

Anna had experienced this with almost all of her patients so far. She could never hope to imagine how they must feel upon the realisation. That they had lost their limbs. That they were amputees.

She reached forward for Sergeant Bates as he started to thrash around in the bed in a blind panic.

John could feel her hands on his arms as she tried to restrain him. _Explain._ What was there to explain? He was a cripple. Half of his leg was gone. And there was nothing he could do. Nothing needed to be explained.

He felt hot tears gather in his eyes. He shook his head as he continued to thrash about in the thin hospital bed and he could hear himself groaning and calling for her to leave him be. He was vaguely aware of a bandage around his left wrist, and he surmised that it must have been sprained. The pain told him that.

"It'll all be fine. Trust me."

He found himself resenting her for saying it. He was angered at her words. _What did she understand?_ But soon her voice was replaced with another, and this time it was distinctly masculine. There were also a stronger pair of hands holding him down and this time they succeeded.

"Sergeant Barrow, would you help?"

Then he felt two pairs of hands and he gave up the fight completely.

He sensed one of the men walking away after the one who he now recognised to be Doctor Clarkson dismissed him. John turned his head to one side to see an average, dark-haired looking fellow walking away dressed in the usual convalescent blues. He had a bit of a limp and a rather noticeable bandage around his hand.

But John found he had no more time to watch the other men for Doctor Clarkson started to talk.

"Sergeant Bates," the doctor began. "As I'm sure you're aware by now, you have suffered terrible injuries."

John had turned around to face the doctor but was now turning his head once more. It was like being faced with his failings. All of his failings in life.

"You were out of it for quite some time. Although that may be more down to the sedatives they used to calm you down and the journey back. And the fever." The doctor paused. "Do you remember anything, Sergeant?"

John said nothing. Nor did he make any sort of movement. Doctor Clarkson took this as incentive to continue regardless.

"You were hit by an exploding bullet on October 24th, jumping in front of Captain Crawley. The fragments shattered your knee and penetrated some of the key ligaments." John closed his eyes as it was explained to him. All he needed to know was that his leg was gone. He subconsciously began to rub his neck with the palm of his hand. "By the time you were found and taken to the field hospital there was nothing that could be done to save your leg. An infection had spread and you had developed a very high fever. There was nothing the doctors could have done, Sergeant Bates. I am very sorry."

John could bear it no longer and he turned completely away from the doctor. It was the old effect he had undertaken as a child, if he could not see it, it must not exist. In this case it was Doctor Clarkson. His mother had always chastised him for it.

As he turned, however, he caught sight of the nurse from before. Nurse Smith. She was helping another of the soldiers a couple of beds down from him to his feet. This man had lost both legs from below the knee. But John noticed that he had some sort of replacement attached to the remaining tissue. It enabled the man to walk although not completely unaided at the moment. This was where Nurse Smith was helping him. She held out some crutches for him to take and remained at his side should he need to be steadied.

He may have been surrounded by some of the only people that knew how he was feeling, but he had never felt so isolated.

He heard Doctor Clarkson from behind him.

"You may not have realised already, Sergeant Bates, but this is very much a rehabilitation hospital." John closed his eyes and felt his heart shudder. The thought of ever trying to act normally after this terrified him. "This is to try and help you as much as we can to return back to civilian life. You'll be on the waiting list to receive a prosthetic as replacement for your leg. This should help you to be a lot more mobile in time to come."

John found himself hearing the words being spoken but not really listening. He could hear Doctor Clarkson as he continued to regale the process by which he would hope to recover and the programmes that the hospital would provide for him.

But his future was bleak now. The sense of loss was strange. He felt… un-whole. There would be no more chances for him, not now. His career in the army was finished. There was no sort of labour he could do. His mother would be ashamed. Just as he had started to win her approval once more – after the drink and after Vera – she would be ashamed again. She may pity him. He didn't want it.

More than once he had thought about his old life, before Vera had entered into it. His youth. How he longed for it back. The poets always spoke of a desperate longing for youth, but John doubted they had experienced _this_. He wanted his youth back now that his life was over.

All John could think about was his old life. His leg. His new life; his bleak future. He thought of the challenge that work would pose and he thought about his mother. He longed to see her – longed for a visit. It had been months since he had last seen her. But then he thought back to his regiment. He thought of the gunfire and the spitting mud and he turned away from the doctor and closed his eyes.

Maybe if he shut his eyes he would shut away the world.

He thought of the life he had lost there and would never get back.

* * *

><p><em>Late November, 1916<em>

"They say it was the bloodiest battle so far." Anna remarked as she checked his blood pressure and temperature. The fever had all but disappeared since he had arrived in England but from all that Anna had learnt in her time as a nurse it was never to assume, and that she could never be too careful. So many soldiers had no fever when they left France and had developed one on the voyage back. In the first few weeks she had learnt to check for these symptoms, as she had first been taught.

She also moved back the bed sheets and checked his leg which earned her a scowl. The bandage was still there after the wound had been cauterised over in the field hospital. Doctor Clarkson had checked it a few times and it was her job to check it regularly just in case there were any problems. None at the moment, it would seem.

"What would you know?" John growled bitterly.

Sergeant Bates was not the easiest of patients she had ever come across. Anna just tended to sigh and ignore him when he was like this.

The Battle of the Somme had ended recently, and from what the newspapers reported, it sounded horrific. Anna should have known really because their patients here had almost doubled in the last months. Sergeant Bates had been one of these.

John found himself to be turning into quite a bitter and angry man. He did not like it. It reminded him of his time with Vera. The drink. When he thought of those times and the relief he used to feel at the hands of a bottle of whiskey he almost wished he could go back. It might help him to cope.

But then he remembered his mother. She was the reason he had given up the drink. After he had showed up on her doorstep in the early hours that morning, a bitter and angry drunk with a bottle in his hand and hot tears rolling down his cheeks after another argument with Vera, Maeve Bates had reached the end of her tether. He could still remember that night now. Quite how he did he was unsure. She had taken the bottle from him and made him watch as she poured it down the kitchen sink. And she would do the same every time she found him with another bottle, although those times became considerably less after that night. She had given him a few home truths. It had shaken him to the core. Enough to realise that he needed to change. Enough to realise that he _wanted_ to change. His mother had made him realise that he did not deserve to feel this way, and that a husband and wife should not live like this. The way Vera stalked off and found solace in the company of other men was not normal. And Maeve no longer liked the man her son had become. She was ashamed.

She had been ashamed of him. Ultimately that had been his motive to stop. And that was why turning to the bottle was not an option now.

"As much as any of us know at home," Anna bit back. She could certainly hold her own, John thought. His mind drifted from his mother to Nurse Smith. Anna was used to these kinds of comments from some of her patients.

"As much as the papers want to tell you, you mean."

John couldn't help it. She didn't understand. She could never hope to. She would never have to wake to the sounds of screaming and horror. To the fear of waking up to death. The fear of not waking up at all.

"We're living the war too." Anna threw the duvet covers back over his leg, finished for now with her inspection. She looked him in the eyes. "Everyone knows someone over there. This war leaves no one untouched, Sergeant Bates."

She was resilient, he would give her that. But she was still too young to understand. And her cheery optimism angered him. Almost as though she believed he could walk out of here and live his life again.

John sighed and turned his head, not wanting to face her anymore. She was a lot more tenacious than the other nurses. The others seemed to have given up on him already, although he supposed he gave them nothing really to go on. They wanted him to start using a pair of crutches. To try and start walking again. The stern matron seemed to dislike him too, although he supposed it was just her dedication to work and to the patients she looked after. She was stern, but fair. But he noticed a look of disapproval whenever she came over to see him and he would not respond. He didn't care. He didn't care about the other Sergeant who would make snide remarks here and there. He found it difficult to care about any of it.

"Everyone carries scars, Sergeant Bates." She was talking again. Now she was looking at his charts. "Inside and out."

But this seemed to strike a cord. Because he knew that the physical scars were not always the worst of them. He remembered the Private in his regiment. Frederick. Fred. The war had scarred him more than the eye could see. The fear had sent him mad. He still heard the gun shot in his nightmares.

"Good news anyway," Nurse Smith continued. She had rounded the bed and she was arranging the flowers his mother had brought him now. She visited as often as she could. He enjoyed that. Sometimes in those moments he felt reacquainted with his old life again. He turned his attention back to the nurse. "Lord Grantham has asked for you to be moved up the waiting list, he says you saved his life." _For his new leg, of course._ "You may have it just after Christmas all being well."

John shrugged and mumbled to himself. He began to rub his neck. "Why should I want one?" But she heard him and turned her head to face him.

"And why wouldn't you?"

Anna heard him mutter another response but a little quieter this time. It was only just loud enough to hear. Something about no dignity and wishing they'd just bloody ended it. She felt a cold shiver run through her body. She watched as he rubbed his neck. She noticed that he did that a lot. Perhaps as a soothing gesture. He only seemed to do it when he appeared to be upset. He continued to mutter something about work and no one willing to take on a cripple.

"Plenty of men find work from here." Anna spoke solidly. "There are all different kinds of work available now. What did you do before the war?"

He didn't answer. He hardly wanted to tell her that before the war he was a drunkard. A divorced man and a drunkard. The occasional bar work when he was sober enough to hold a job, until 1914 when he had heard his calling. The army had straightened the rest of him up. His mother had done a good job beforehand and the army had done the rest. He had worked hard. His hard work, bravery and honour had earned him a promotion to Sergeant fairly soon after he had been sent to France. Captain Crawley had taken a shine to him, it seemed. He had to remind himself to call him Captain Crawley, especially when he seemed to be Lord Grantham here too.

When he did not respond Anna took that as her cue to leave. With a sigh she collected some articles of his clothing for the laundry and made her move, although not before doubly checking his injured wrist. John responded afterwards by picking up his book and starting to read again.

Anna turned to look at him once more before she left the ward. There was something about him. He was a challenge, that much was certain. But she knew that beneath the fear, the desperation and the heartbreak he had been through there must be a brave, kind man. His mother said as much. The events of the last month had stripped away all that he had held dear and he felt as though his life had been snatched away from him. But Anna was strangely drawn to him. The only time she saw his eyes take on any kind of resemblance to content or peace was when his mother visited. But she wanted to do whatever she could to pull him from the shadows. She wanted to help him realise that he could still live a life, his life. She wanted to teach and show him how to live again.

She had never leant so much to faith until the start of the war. In her youth she attended Church every Sunday and would consider herself a firm believer, but now her prayers had never seemed more important. In war one of the only things people could rely on was faith. And Anna knew that God worked in mysterious ways, and that somehow He must have a plan for Sergeant Bates.

She only prayed that he would find it.

* * *

><p><em>December, 1916<em>

The Christmas period soon crept up on them and Anna felt as though she was no closer to Sergeant Bates than she had been since he had woken up. He sat in bed looking as particularly mournful as he had when he had first arrived, and although she would never begrudge or judge him for it - heaven knows after all these men had been through - it was her job to bring him from the darkness. And she knew matron was growing increasingly aware of his unwillingness to cooperate with his recuperation.

As Anna did her rounds that morning she passed his bed. Sergeant Bates had a book in hand but he seemed to have lost interest in it some time ago. His wrist was better now, although she had hoped the same could have been said for _him_. She watched him for a few moments, his eyes never leaving his spot on the page except for some painful twitch. She assumed he was revisiting some unwanted memories.

She intervened, "Afternoon, Sergeant Bates." She watched as he jumped in shock and briefly chastised herself for being so thoughtless.

He looked up at her with darkened eyes and he muttered, "Nurse."

"Not long now until Christmas," Anna attempted to instil some cheer. Anything. He needed any sort of motivation to move from the bed as she could muster. Most of the other soldiers moved around of their own accord now, even when their classes were not in session. But Sergeant Bates had refused.

Anna noticed that he was still in no mood to converse with her, therefore she continued with the conversation for them both.

"I doubt I'll go home for Christmas this year. It doesn't feel right with my brother over in France." She watched as this seemed to spark the slightest of interest in the Sergeant. Not a lot but more than she was used to. She saw it as a step forward. "James and me always fought when we were younger, but now none of that seems to matter. My sister and her children will probably go to my parents' for a few days but her husband is away too."

'Away' seemed the nicest word to use in this case. It was the word that filled them with most hope. It was better than saying over there with the Germans and the gunfire and the trenches.

John listened carefully to her words, although he tried to show no sign. He might not have wanted to include himself in their recuperation programmes but he never minded this nurse. Nurse Smith. She talked a lot and often tried too much to prise information from him, but he could tell she had a good heart. And a strong one. A strong stomach too. She was never easily bowled over by his snide remarks and could very much hold her own. Clearly this choice in career path was not a decision made lightly. Not like some of the other nurses he had met since the war had started.

"Will your mother be visiting?" She asked. John had seen her talking to his mother on more than one occasion.

"I suspect you know more about that than I do." It was supposed to come out much lighter but he found his voice to be quite cynical. Maybe before it would have been different.

_Before._

_After._

John closed his eyes at the painful realisation. He hated to think of it even still. He had only looked at it when he had to. He had cast his eyes onto the ugly stump where his leg now ended but only when he was forced to move from his bed.

"She did say she would pop by," Anna conceded with a sigh. "I shall have to bring you a Christmas card to raise your spirits." Anna tried to joke cheerfully. She had already tried unsuccessfully to wrap a piece of tinsel around his bed post.

"Do what you want," John muttered.

Anna sighed and looked at him with exasperation. "Well... is there anything else I can do for you? Is your leg comfortable enough, no irritations?"

The one thing he wanted - needed - she could not give him. No one could.

John shook his head.

"Right, I'll be off then."

John managed the smallest of smiles. A gesture his mother would be proud of. This seemed to please Nurse Smith as she left him and went to one of her other patients.

John suddenly felt exhausted. Probably to do with the little sleep he had managed the night before. Whenever he closed his eyes he remembered. When he closed them this time and felt sleep beginning to take him he hoped he wouldn't remember.

Once more that was one hope too far.

They said it would be over within a few months; that it would have ended by Christmas. And here they still were two years later.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thank you all so much. I hope everyone had a lovely start to the New Year, and enjoyed the Christmas Special (or at least the last minutes, eek!). Mother Bates makes an appearance now, and I've loved writing her scenes so far. I hope you enjoy, and please do let me know what you think. A bit more of Anna's back story here, too. Thank you **testship **once again for reading this through for me.

* * *

><p><strong>Thy Kingdom Come<br>****Chapter 3**

* * *

><p><em>February, 1917<em>

The months passed by in almost a slow crawl, and within that time Anna had still gotten no further (or so it seemed) with Sergeant Bates. His leg replacement had not arrived yet but Doctor Clarkson had mentioned that it would only be a matter of another month or so now. The waiting list reminded Anna of the sacrifices all of these men were making, not just the ones here in Roehampton but all over the country. The practicality of it all made her shudder. This was their life now, chaos and death was a daily occurrence and whilst she never claimed to have much of a relationship with God, she prayed every night for the war to end.

She also prayed that her younger brother would make it home safely. There had been little word from James, although that was no different than usual. He would rarely write to her specifically – often every few months to check how she was, and that all of the soldiers were behaving themselves around her. Only to their mother up in Yorkshire who would then relay the information back to her in their fortnightly letters. Anna knew that her mother hated having two of her three children being so far away from home, but she also knew that her mother and father both understood her reasons for coming down here.

Her life at home would have been the farm. Or a job in service as a housemaid, and she had tried that once. She had quite enjoyed her work, as much as a maid could, the house had been small but comfortable and very lovely, and her ex-employers were nothing but kind. But after she had come home to help her father with the farm when her mother had been taken seriously ill, she realised how little she would contribute to society from a place in service. That was when Anna knew within her heart that she wanted to take a different path in life. She wanted to be able to help people, or at least to make some sort of difference.

She wanted to become a nurse. Her mother had called her foolish. She had initially said that Anna had been dreaming too big. But eventually she had accepted her daughter's decision.

From there she had found a nursing school that had opened in York and applied. She had been there for two years when the news of the war broke out, and after another year she decided to go and find work in London. She had heard from some colleagues at the school that Queen Mary's Hospital had opened in order to help rehabilitate patients after injury and to prepare them for civilian life once again.

Anna had felt some sort of calling. Her mother had hated it, and her father had looked displeased at the idea of his youngest daughter moving all the way to London in the midst of a war, but both of them slowly came around to the idea.

And in January of 1916 she had moved to the bright lights of London, away from everything she had ever known. The busy streets and the chilling breeze that war seemed to have cast across the skies and the dispositions of a lot of people was ever different to the times she had spent growing up in Yorkshire. Gone were the wild moors and the green fields, to be replaced with dark, black buildings and smog.

But as she started to immerse herself into London society – and her work at the hospital – she slowly began to fall in love with the city. It was no Yorkshire, but Anna still felt like she could begin to call it home. She also lived with a Yorkshire girl, Sybil, who had become a Voluntary Aid Detachment nurse, a V.A.D., just after the war had started. Anna had first been under the impression that the decision to move had been an act of rebellion from her wealthy family, but she soon learnt that Sybil had her motives in life and that her path had very much been destined to turn in this direction.

And she got along well with her. She was slightly younger than Anna was, probably by several years if not more, but they found plenty to talk about together, especially after discovering that the two of them had lived close by back in Yorkshire. Anna knew the family Sybil came from, she had heard of them within her smaller village, but she hardly paid reference to it. That was all Sybil would talk of her family, she liked to keep them private. Although she claimed that she was not ashamed of who she was or where she had come from, she wanted to be treated as an equal, and Anna respected that.

It also meant that she shared a rather nice-looking and spacious apartment for a rather discounted price. Anna had tried to appeal to her friend and ensure that she could contribute the same as her, but Sybil would have none of it and waved her protests away. She reasoned that Anna had been a good friend to her since she had arrived in London – she had not seen her like a lot of the others did, a young rich girl trying to shock her family and move away from home. And her father had been only too content to pay for the apartment, if anything to ease his own mind that she was living so far away but in a comfortable setting.

_Lord Grantham. _It suddenly clicked that Lord Grantham was Sergeant Bates' Captain Crawley, and Anna laughed at the coincidence. It really was a much smaller world than they thought.

Sybil had wanted to move out of the nursing residential home almost as soon as she had arrived, but a compulsory period of several months living there was required. Once that was over, she had sought after finding somewhere of her own, and she had asked Anna to join her.

Their shared apartment was not far away from the hospital, less than a ten minute walk every morning, and it was surrounded by beautiful greenery and foliage that made them both feel very at home. Sometimes it felt like Yorkshire had been brought to them, and Anna was very gracious that Sybil had given her this opportunity.

Whilst she had enjoyed living with the other nurses and had enjoyed the family feeling that she had felt grow between them, the sense of independence that she got from simply being able to go out and buy her own groceries, cook her own meals to her own schedule and to come back to a place that was her own was unadulterated. She thrived upon the independence, and from then she had felt less homesick than she had to begin with. Of course she still missed her family from time to time, and whenever she got the opportunity to visit home she would enjoy the time she spent with them, but she did enjoy the fact that she was making something of her life now beyond the farm and beyond being at the beck and call of someone who wanted their sheets changing.

Chuckling to herself at the thought, she looked down at the pile of sheets in her arms that she was about to leave in the laundry. _No, this was different_. She genuinely enjoyed her work here, even though it was difficult at times. Some of her patients really did find themselves in a dark place upon arriving here, and it was her job to bring them back into the light. It was difficult when some of the men did not make it through, and her heart often ached at the thought of such a cruel fate after surviving the battlefield. But through the sadness, it only made her more determined.

With those thoughts in her mind, she left the sheets in the laundry room for some of the V.A.D. nurses to handle – one of their roles in the hospital since most of them if not all were not fully trained in nursing and tended to take on the lighter roles to free the qualified nurses for the more pressing tasks – and went in search of Sergeant Bates.

One could sense winter was ending and spring was upon them, and more and more of the soldiers were taking advantage of the weather and venturing outside once more, either for games or for a short walk. The frost on the leaves was starting to melt and the bitter winds were slowly beginning to fade. It had to be one of her favourite times of the year – the season of birth and awakening – the time when it was neither hot nor cold.

But one of the only men to not take advantage of the outdoors had been Sergeant Bates. Whilst he would offer her the occasional smile – although she suspected that was often to placate her, because they never reached his eyes, and she could tell which of his smiles were real because she saw them when his mother came to visit – he would still just sit in bed and read, barely offering a word to anyone unless it was wrapped in sarcasm or disdain.

She made her way to the ward and fixed her eyes upon him instantly. It was almost like a picture portrait now, him sat there in bed with a book in his hands but his eyes not seeming to actually digest the words on the page. His gaze was wistful and often he would wince. She usually took this as her cue to intervene.

"It's a lovely morning, Sergeant." She spoke softly as she approached his bed. She saw him register her appearance, but he said nothing in response.

Anna let herself look busy at the end of his bed, checking his notes and that his sheets were carefully wrapped around his body.

"I was thinking of going for a walk myself later. How about you join me?"

At this Sergeant Bates looked up. "And how would you suggest I do that?"

His eyes pierced into her, and for the first time Anna felt the breath leaving her body. The intensity of his gaze and the emotions he was keeping secret behind there made her want to cry.

But almost as soon as he had spoken, he continued, not giving her the opportunity to respond, "I don't quite feel like it today."

At that, he turned back to his book, and this time he actually seemed to be reading. Anna noticed that it was another selection of Burns poetry, which she had observed seemed to be a favourite of his.

"I almost forgot to say, it only just clicked the other day," Anna began and noticed that she seemed to have the full attention of the Sergeant. "Your Captain Crawley..."

"I would hardly call him _mine_," John muttered darkly.

Anna ignored him and continued. "Well, I live with his daughter." John turned to her, confused. "The Earl of Grantham's daughter, Sybil. She works here in the hospital, she's a VAD."

John recognised the name Sybil. He nodded mutely.

"Well, I thought it was such a coincidence. Given that you know him too, and we have heard so much from him." John nodded once more but said nothing, "Perhaps he will visit?"

John winced at the idea of his superior seeing him in this _state_ and Anna noticed it instantly. She wondered what was happening in his head, as she so often did. She wanted nothing more than to understand.

However, as she noticed he was remaining silent she resigned herself to defeat.

"Right, well I'll be back sometime later. See how you are. And you really should think about the walk."

An idea flashed across her mind in that moment.

When she came back later, he was asleep. But she would not be deterred, and she carefully lay down the pair of crutches across the bottom of his bed above the sheets, so he would definitely see them.

* * *

><p>John stared at the crutches with a vengeance, but also with a degree of suspicion. He knew who had left them there. Only she would leave them there.<p>

He _wanted _to get up and walk. He wanted that more than anything in the world, he hated being so immobile and being waited on hand and foot. But he simply couldn't.

The thought of having to use them made him feel sick to his stomach. He would often glance around nervously at the other men and would wonder what they would think if they saw him use them. He wondered how much of his pride would be lost. He feared the struggle. He watched as some of the other men struggled to walk for the first time without their leg, some of them having to adjust to life without their arms too.

John swallowed the lump in his throat and thought of his mother, as he so often did. Most of all he feared being a failure to her. What if he never walked again? What if he could never manage it?

The matron seemed to be growing impatient with him whenever she did her rounds with the nurses, and she had tactically persuaded him to at least go and attend some of the sessions that the hospital provided, even if he would not take part just yet. There was little use until he received his prosthetic limb, but he had seen those too.

These sessions were sometimes used before the soldiers received their prosthetics to check how much mobility was left, and afterwards they would become more rigorous, teaching them how to walk again with them and often without assistance. John had noticed this when he had been there. He had also noticed other classes – for men who had lost their arms, they would be undergoing similar processes, and others were undertaking more therapeutic treatments such as basket weaving or craft working. He assumed it was to gain some sort of mobility in their hands once again.

His still shook, but only after he woke from nightmares.

Not for the first time, he closed his eyes and thought about the front, and he wished it had all ended there. He would never voice it, but he felt it. And he would be there again at night in his dreams – when he did manage sleep – and often would wake in a sweat, having attracted the attention of one of the nurses as he called out.

Just last night he remembered having been woken by one of the nurses on the night shift – one with red hair and kind eyes. He had coldly told her to leave him alone and she had left, but only after ensuring that his water glass was filled and he felt her looking over at him regularly throughout the night.

But that did not stop the dreams coming back to haunt him when he did manage another hour or so later on. He feared that they would never go away.

* * *

><p>It was Thursday afternoon, and that only meant one thing. His mother would be visiting.<p>

There was no real schedule for visiting hours. The only rule was to come within the scheduled time – from one o'clock until half past two – but apart from that visitors could come any day. His mother often came, whenever she did not have too many chores to complete or shopping to do at the market.

John had started to hate market days.

Meanwhile, Anna watched Sergeant Bates out of the corner of her eye as she completed some medial chores on the ward. She had just finished double-checking the rota upon request from the matron when she noticed Mrs Bates had arrived.

She watched as his face lit up. It warmed her heart to see such a reaction from him, until she shook her head and forced herself to look away. He occasionally caught her watching the two of them and she would turn away, embarrassed. She knew he hated to be pitied. And this was why she always made sure to tell him that she didn't pity him; that she only wanted to help.

She only hoped that one day he would believe her.

"Good afternoon, dear."

Mrs Bates approached her son, patting his good leg before sitting down on the chair beside his bed.

"Been out of bed yet?"

John rolled his eyes. His mother knew how to get straight to the point, he would give her that.

"No, mam."

Maeve sighed. "You need to, John. It won't do you no good to be cooped up in here."

"It won't do me any good to try walking with no leg…" John mumbled to himself, hoping that his mother would not hear, but as he should have learned from his childhood, she had the ears of a hawk. A saying which admittedly he had never understood, because hawks were hardly known for their sense of hearing.

"Now, Johnny. You stop with that talk." Through her chastisement, her Irish burr became even more recognisable. John could not help but smile at the sound.

They sat in silence for a couple of moments, simply enjoying each other's presence. That was until Maeve spoke up,

"What's this I hear about you giving these nurses a hard time, John?"

Her sudden exclamation surprised him, and John looked across to the nurses' station and saw Nurse Smith, and the nurse who had woken him the other night. He knew he had been unnecessarily harsh and that he should probably apologise. But all he could do was sigh and look away, especially when he noticed Nurse Smith cast a glance over at the two of them.

"They're here to help you, son." Maeve sighed, watching her son with keen interest. She wished she could help him properly, beyond the odd smile here and there whenever she visited. She knew how much he suffered, Nurse Smith told her about him and she could see it herself in the way he looked and acted.

She wanted her son back. She often felt like he had been left over in France in spirit. The John she had now was no similarity to the John who had gone off to war with a tip of his hat and a smile.

Maeve knew her son. She knew that his pride had suffered because of the accident, but she also knew that he needed to find it within himself to understand that it was not the end of his world. That his life would go on. Bad things happened in life, but all he needed to do was find a new reason to go on.

"I hear your leg may be fitted soon, too. Maybe within the next month. It was nice of Captain Crawley to do that for you, he must think fondly of you." Maeve hoped that receiving his prosthetic leg would be the start of something new for her son. That he might revive his spirits. "But you must make an effort. The nurses can only do so much, John."

"I just want to be left alone," John replied mournfully.

Maeve watched as his face twisted and spoke up sharply, "Now don't you be looking like that, John Bates. I know that look of yours. And one day you may just be grateful that you're still here to see your old mam, because I tell you plenty aren't as lucky."

This seemed to have struck something within John. Maeve watched as his face straightened and he swallowed a lump in his throat. She wanted him to answer her, to understand that _she _still had something to live for with him still being here. But her son remained silent, brooding as he had become so prone to doing since he was a child, so she decided to simply continue talking.

Maeve spoke about her neighbours, about young Edward who seemed to be doing fine in the war. His mother had received another letter just this morning telling her about how well he was, but that could she send more chocolate. No apples, because they just went off by the time he received them. "He never did like his fruit," Maeve chuckled to herself.

She continued to talk to John until Maeve noticed a familiar face come over.

"How lovely to see you again, Mrs Bates." Anna greeted Maeve warmly, placing a hand on her shoulder as she came to stand beside the bed.

"Hello, Nurse Smith."

"Oh I've told you, please call me Anna." She insisted.

"Ach. In war formalities have never been more important." Maeve commented, looking a little wistful at her remark.

"Yet somehow they have never seemed so unimportant," Anna replied poignantly. Somewhere there were more important things now than _lord _or _lady_.

Maeve smiled in agreement. She did like the pretty, young nurse. She had a good, steady head on her shoulders and she knew her own mind. Maeve also knew how much she did for her son, no matter how unresponsive he was at the moment. She had a good feeling about Nurse Smith though, and she knew that if anyone could get through to her son, it was her.

"Have you had news of your brother?" Maeve asked tentatively. She remembered talking of her brother the last time she had visited.

Anna smiled sadly. "He's fine. Well, as fine as you can be over there. He was missing for a while actually, but he found his way back to camp along with a few others." The kind expression on the older woman's face made it so much easier to reveal all of this. "He sent my mother a letter almost immediately after, and she sent me just yesterday."

"Oh, what a relief."

"It is," Anna smiled, and she chanced a look over at Sergeant Bates, who actually seemed rather interested in their conversation, and was shifting his eyes between the two of them.

It became clear to John that Nurse Smith and his mother had struck up quite a friendship. They had clearly spoken to each other on more than one occasion, and whilst that made him a little nervous, he also found himself wanting to smile. Quite why, he did not know.

He watched as Nurse Smith continued to ask his mother about her health, well-being or simply about the market shop yesterday. She looked genuinely interested, and he found he started liking her more for it.

However, as he was watching her so intently, she turned around and looked at him. Their eyes caught each other and she gave him a warm smile, but he simply looked away and watched his mother instead.

* * *

><p>Anna was putting away some of the medicine bottles into the cabinet in the tiny cupboard, ensuring that it was locked behind her, when a sudden voice from behind startled her,<p>

"Well, I'll be off, dear."

Anna instantly recognised the voice and turned around to smile at Mrs Bates. The older lady had fixed her coat and wrapped her scarf around her neck. The winter was still not over.

"Take care of yourself, Mrs Bates." Anna reached out and placed her hand on her shoulder, squeezing it softly.

This woman reminded her so much of her own mother, and they seemed to get along so well. She was a charming old lady who Anna admired for her strength and resolve to remain wholly positive for her son during a time like this. Anna could not imagine being so calm and collected if this had ever happened to a child of hers.

"And you, dear. All of that ice still, you must be careful walking home." Anna could not help but smile at her cautious warnings.

She reassured her, "Most of the time I walk home with Sybil, so no need to worry yourself. I should be the one telling you to mind yourself."

Maeve waved away any concern about her. But even talk of concern seemed to bring a wistful and melancholy look to the aging face of her friend, for she was a friend now. Anna instantly recognised it.

"He's in safe hands."

Maeve felt tears gathering in her eyes and quickly attempted to keep them at bay. But sometimes there was no use.

"I know, dear. And I can never thank you enough."

"You never need to thank me." Anna took Maeve's hands in hers and squeezed them reassuringly. "We _will _get there."

"He just needs to understand that we don't pity him, and that he is still the son I love." Now the tears were starting to fall down her cheeks.

"He knows that," Anna reassured her. "He does, trust me. If nothing else he knows you love him. And that you will love him, leg or no leg."

Maeve looked up and thanked her for saying it. She then started to compose herself and revealed, "He just hates having to rely on other people, does John. He has always been so independent. I think the thought of needing help scares him. And he is not so ready to accept that."

This made Anna think for a moment, and she was silenced.

"I just fear sometimes that he will…" Maeve stopped herself from speaking any more. Anna looked up curiously, suddenly pulled from her thoughts. But once she noticed the way Maeve had suddenly grown worried, she knew it was not her place. But Maeve was not so ready to stop, feeling that she needed to say something – to tell someone. "John had a difficult time, just before the war. And I worry this might send him back there." Maeve stopped and took a deep breath. "He may not appreciate me saying anything. But sometimes you need to talk to someone."

Anna smiled and squeezed her hands tightly. "I know. I won't say anything to him."

Maeve smiled at her appreciatively. She raised one of her hands to Anna's cheek and patted it gently, in a motherly fashion. "You're a good lass. You will look after yourself."

Anna nodded.

Suddenly Maeve looked past Anna at the clock in the corner of the desk. "Goodness, is that the time? I best be off to catch the bus."

"You don't want to be late," Anna added. "Will you be back tomorrow?"

"You try and stop me," Maeve joked.

* * *

><p>"Nurse."<p>

Anna turned as she walked down the corridor to see matron poking her head out of her office door.

"Could I have a quick word?"

Curious, Anna approached her and nodded, entering the office.

"What can I do for you, matron?"

Anna didn't mind matron. She was strict, but often fair. Anna liked her. Sometimes she was a bit too strict, but she presumed that _was _her job. Matron Elsie Hughes was good at her job. She was a formidable force amongst the soldiers, and she kept everyone in line.

"Sergeant Bates."

Anna was surprised to hear his name mentioned, and it showed in her face. Before she could ask, however, matron had continued.

"I see he is still unresponsive."

She was seemingly heading straight to the point.

"Well yes, but…"

"I know some of the men take it harder than others. But if there is nothing we can do…"

Anna winced at the thought. War had made everyone so impatient. There was almost an element of hurrying the men through the process sometimes, even when it may not be complete. She replied quickly,

"I think we are getting through to him, slowly. He seems to get better every time his mother comes to visit."

"But he will still not go outside? Or walk around himself? Whenever I see him, he's in bed."

"I think he will be better when he receives his replacement. It will take time," Anna knew Sergeant Bates well enough now, she thought, to know that it would take him some time to get used to it. Or even to feel comfortable wearing and using it around other people. He was a proud man, unwilling to admit weakness, and that was part of the main problem faced. "But I do think we can help him."

"Well if you think so, then I shall try not to worry about it," Matron supplied thoughtfully. "But I do hope you are right."

There seemed to be a melancholy exchange between the two women as they reflected upon the situation for all of the men here. It was important to know that matron did care, she cared for all of her patients, but there was a strict schedule and war made everyone rush into decisions and often lose their faith in their hopes.

But Anna had faith. If there was anything she kept close to her during war, it was faith.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Apologies for the delay, Uni assignments and life generally got in the way. The next chapter should be up quicker, it's mostly written up. Thank you for all of the reviews, I loved reading each one of them, and to the people putting this on their alerts. Much love! Thanks also to **testship **for everything, as always.

These chapters also seem to get bigger and bigger as I go along. I hope it's not too much for people, if so I'll split them up. The next is already 5,000 and not even finished yet. But yes, I hope you enjoy. More Anna and Bates interaction, and more Mama Bates (I love her so much), and an appearance from another Crawley.

* * *

><p><strong>Thy Kingdom Come<strong>

**Chapter 4**

* * *

><p><em>Early March, 1917<em>

_"Sergeant!"_

John felt the ground shaking beneath him. There was ground beneath him and ground above him; it was being spat back down at him. He was being covered by the flying, spitting earth, and the thunderous noises that surrounded them deafened his ears.

He looked around the muddy fields surrounding the trenches – the battlefield – and noticed some of his privates. They were lain on the floor, wounded, heads in their hands, crying…

He felt his hands shaking.

A sudden force threw him up into the air and he landed as though he were a rag doll. He lay flat on the ground. He tried to move. There was nowhere to go.

His world suddenly went black. All he could see was black. He could still hear the gunfire, he could still hear the yelling and the screaming, but he saw nothing…

He reached down for his leg and felt nothing.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, an unfamiliar hand, and he yelled. He tried to move and grab at it.

_"Sergeant Bates__…"_

The hand was shaking him now.

John shuddered and opened his eyes. He could feel sweat that had gathered on his forehead and he could hear the erratic thumping of his heart and the shortness of his breath. As he adjusted his eyes, he realised that he was safe. He was in the hospital.

"Sergeant. Are you all right, Sergeant?"

And her. Her voice.

He found himself warming at the sight of her as he awoke and adjusted his eyes properly. She was leaning over him, her hand still on his shoulder, and a moment later he felt a cool rag sweeping across his forehead, her fingers pushing away the strands of his hair that had fallen across his face. For just a moment he could imagine he was a boy again. That all of this had never happened.

"You're safe now." Her voice soothed him. "It was just a dream."

He afforded himself the comfort of her touch for a few moments until he turned his face away. Reality sunk in, and he was back here. Being here meant that his dreams were true. It was like living his nightmares.

"I'm fine," he muttered, turning his head away from her. He felt the cool rag leave his skin but he heard it drop on his bedside table.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of. They say the scars up here can be as bad as those you can see." He did not see her motioning to her head, but he knew what she was talking about. She didn't. The thought of her – of anyone – understanding made him want to laugh. He did, chuckling to himself sardonically.

"Because people understand," he spoke cynically.

Anna watched him, shaking her head slightly. She fixed the sheets back around him, even when he grunted, and she spoke, "Just let me know if you need anything."

She was met with silence. A few seconds later she turned and made her way back to the station.

She did not notice the tears gathering in his eyes and the shaking of his hands as he clutched the sheets to him.

* * *

><p>"How are you feeling?" Anna asked as she took his pulse quickly and afterwards checked the bandage on his leg. The news had arrived that he would soon be receiving his prosthetic limb and Sergeant Bates had been almost silent ever since.<p>

"Fine," he nodded, his eyes flickering everywhere but to her.

Anna stood still for a moment and watched his expression, until he noticed that she was staring and turned to face her. Their sudden eye contact made them both still. Anna shook herself physically and mentally, and broke the momentary silence, "I just wanted to check. After the other night you seem so quiet..." She trailed off and watched as he closed his eyes unresponsively. "And you haven't said much about your news."

"I'd rather not think about it," Sergeant Bates replied quietly, opening his eyes once more but keeping them fixed on the duvet cover rather than the other participant in the conversation.

"But you must at least talk about it," Anna started. "If your nightmares will only get worse, you must think about talking to someone."

A voice suddenly appeared from the end of the bed, "You need to start putting a sock in it." Anna turned to shoot the owner of the voice a stern and despairing look.

John merely looked up and scowled. Sergeant Barrow had been making snide comments here and there ever since John had arrived, and for the life of him he had no idea why. He almost pitied the man, John knew that he must have suffered similar traumas to him on the front, the same as any man here, but there was often (or rather always) no need for his remarks or his persistent badgering of the other soldiers. He seemed to be making no friends amongst the crowd.

"That's enough, Sergeant Barrow." Anna told him firmly, and the Sergeant merely rolled his eyes, took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and walked towards the open doors at the end of the ward. He had recently received a prosthetic for his hand, which he had unfortunately lost earlier last year. Anna turned back to John and smiled at him slightly, "Silly chump."

"What am I supposed to have done to him?" John asked, and Anna was happy that at least he was speaking to her.

"You don't need to have done anything," Anna explained, turning to the vase of flowers by his bedside and re-arranging them endearingly. "He had a friend, and he... he passed." John could tell by the tone of her voice that there was more to it than she was saying. "You arrived just after, and I think he might hold it against you. Lieutenant Courtenay stayed here... in your, well..."

John could tell that she felt uncomfortable saying it, and he held his hand up to signal that she could stop. He understood.

Anna smiled in gratitude.

"Sergeant Barrow had helped him," she continued to explain. "Or had tried to. I don't think he has quite forgiven himself yet. He feels as though he could have done more."

John nodded in understanding.

"Anyway," Anna smiled, placing her hands in her pockets somewhat nervously. "It's almost the end of my shift. If you don't need anything I'll be off."

John found himself turning to face her this time and sent her a somewhat reassuring smile.

With that, Anna left feeling the weight become just that little lighter.

* * *

><p>"There you go, Sergeant."<p>

Doctor Clarkson had shown him how to fix the prosthetic to his upper leg. It was surprisingly light, although it did obviously weigh down on his leg. He felt it.

"That should make it a little easier to move around now. With a bit of practice you may be running a marathon next year."

Doctor Clarkson instantly realised that his joke would not go down well. Sergeant Bates remained stoic and expressionless as he flexed his leg back and forth, becoming accustomed to the feel and weight of his new limb. It attached just below the knee with a strap that he tied around his leg. It seemed simple enough.

A simple enough replacement.

John swallowed hard as he looked down at his new leg. It all felt real now. Being stuck in bed or in a wheelchair made it easier to dismiss reality, he could simply be recovering from an illness, not having the strength to walk at all. But now there was no hiding from it.

This was his life now. He was an amputee, and that would never change.

"Now, I can get one of the nurses to run through our timetables. The training should help you become used to the fitting, as you have seen already, I presume?"

John nodded numbly. He may as well respond in some way.

His eyes were still fixed on it.

"Well, I can leave you to practice now, Sergeant. Let me know if you need anything."

With that, Doctor Clarkson left the consultation room. Being alone, John finally conceded to the lump in his throat and allowed a few hot tears to fall down his cheeks.

He moved his hand down to the prosthetic limb, removing the straps and bringing it closer to inspect it properly. This was a part of him now, if he was to have a normal life. Normal life. He placed the leg to his side across the check-up table and then turned his attentions to his leg. It was one of the first times he had looked at it properly, whenever he bathed he always tried to avoid looking at it – kept it beneath the water – and as he moved his hand across the rough patch of skin that had been cauterised he felt the tears fall quicker.

John screwed his eyes closed and rocked forward, his hand clenching on the place where his leg now ended. He let out a breath and was met with a simultaneous sob.

He wanted to go back.

Back to the start when none of this had happened.

But maybe it was time to start accepting the truth.

* * *

><p>"I think it looks charming."<p>

John could have scowled at his mother and her cheery optimism. It did not look charming. It looked positively hideous, and he hated it. It was a sign of his weakness, and a sign that everyone in his life that he would meet from this moment onwards would pity him. They would know that his life had ultimately ended in France.

"I could think of another word…" John replied bitterly.

"Now, John…" Maeve began, reaching out to cover his hand with her own, thrilled when he did not pull away as he had done a handful of times, and instead started to grip onto it tightly. "This may not have been the life you imagined. But it's the life you've been given now. And one day you will have to accept it. Now, will you show me how you fix it?"

John sighed loudly, but reached across for the prosthetic nevertheless. He twisted and turned so that his legs were hanging off the side of the bed and started to attach the prosthetic in its place, tying the strap around his leg and flexing out his leg.

"There you go," Maeve spoke enthusiastically. "And how does it feel to walk on it?"

"Like I have another man's leg." John looked down at his legs, but as he chanced a glance at his mother, he caught her eye. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her that it felt like the end of the world. But he also did not want his mother to be burdened with such a confession.

However, John underestimated the powers of his mother. As soon as he had looked her in the eye, Maeve knew. And this time she made sure that her hand covered his completely, and she squeezed it reassuringly, bringing it to her lips as they began to quiver.

"You know I love you, son."

John closed his eyes, a lump in his throat threatening to tell all.

"I love you too, mam." He tried his hardest to keep the tears at bay.

He almost lost all control when he felt her hand reach up to cup his cheek, almost reminiscent to the times she had comforted him as a child – a safe boat when he had woken from nightmares during his childhood. He almost wished he was back there now.

"Let them help you, John. Please let them help you."

He could both hear and feel the fear in her voice.

"You know, Mrs Audrey had some bad news yesterday," Maeve began, and John instantly looked up to watch her speaking. Mrs Audrey was their next-door neighbour, and had been for the entire time the two of them had lived there, ever since they had both left Ireland when he was ten. "About Luke. He... He died, John. Just last week."

John felt his throat closing, a lump forming there. Luke had been around six years younger than him, but they had grown up together, he had taken him under his wing almost. Late afternoons exploring the streets and being scolded by their mothers for returning home late, handling bullies that Luke had encountered at school and sharing their troubles about neither having a father figure in their lives. That was until John had left home and married Vera. Then he rarely saw him. But he was still a permanent fixture whenever he visited his mother, always waving from the window. He had a sweetheart too. That he remembered.

"How?" John managed to croak. "How did it happen?"

"Julia didn't say. I only saw her briefly, she had some of the family with her."

Maeve turned to look at her son properly and noticed the unshed tears in his eyes.

"And what I'm going to say, love," Maeve began and John looked up and then down at his lap. She took his hand and squeezed it firmly. "I think you know." He briefly glanced up, confirming her suspicions. "You need to start living again, son. You need to live for these men you knew, those that aren't coming home. Those that weren't as lucky as you. Because you are lucky, John. Not as lucky as some, but you're alive. And right now that's more luck than a lot are getting."

John felt the first tear slip down his cheek, and then the next.

"Please, love. I'm not saying it will be easy. Far from it. And I can never hope to understand how you feel about all of this, but please try. And please understand that there are people who want to help. All you have to do is learn to accept it."

* * *

><p><em>Late March, 1917<em>

Anna titled up her head, attempting to catch the rare rays of sunlight in the late March weather from beneath her carefully fixed hat. It was rare these last few months to see any sun, so whenever it did appear she and Sybil vowed to make the most of it wherever they could. But that still did not eliminate the cold as a frosty breeze began to pick up.

As she thought of Sybil, it reminded her that she had to collect those certain apples from the market.

She rarely ventured into the heart of London unless she had the time off, she was with a friend or she was looking for something in particular. But when she could, she would come to Borough Market, one of the oldest and largest food markets in London. It was a lovely market and she and Sybil often came here to gather their food supplies weekly, often alone but if it chanced that the two of them had the same shift off they would come together and stop by a cafe too.

Anna was just leaving the bakery and crossing to the market stall where she would usually purchase their fruit when a familiar voice startled her briefly as they exclaimed her name.

"Why, Anna!" Anna turned to see Mrs Bates carrying a basket of her own, filled with fruits and vegetables. "How lovely to see you. I didn't know you came here."

Anna nodded and smiled. "It's lovely to see you, too. And we prefer it, better value."

"I've come here since we came to London. Great value," Maeve agreed, jostling the wicker basket in her arms.

"Where were you before?" Anna asked curiously.

"Ireland," Maeve explained. "We moved when John was ten, after his father passed."

Anna gave her a sympathetic smile, "I thought I detected an accent in there somewhere."

"We have picked up bits here and there. John's father was Irish, but my family was Scottish. And then of course there's living here for most our lives."

"I find my Yorkshire accent is quite enough." Anna joked.

Mrs Bates smiled and cast a motherly glance down at her basket and tutted at the current contents - sugary pastries of various shapes and sizes. Anna laughed at her reaction.

"You do eat properly, don't you? You both living on your own."

Anna shook her head, smiling. "We do. Don't you worry. As it happens, the bakery was my first stop, so you caught me at a bad time."

Mrs Bates smiled at her fondly, a smile that reached the corners of her eyes. "Well, now I've said it, you girls do need some meat on your bones."

Anna couldn't help it as she let out another peal of laughter.

"That's what I used to say to John, when he came home on leave before his... Well, his accident." Maeve allowed the moment to pass her by, however, and continued. "You young ones don't eat enough. And you wonder when you're cold."

She had noticed Anna shivering even from beneath her coat.

"Oh, I'm almost always cold. I did used to live up North," Anna teased light-heartedly.

Mrs Bates smirked, "Well, you just take care. Otherwise there'll be no one to look after my John."

Anna shared her smile. "How was he, when you last saw him?" Anna had not been in work for the past couple of days, having had them off.

"I saw him yesterday," Maeve revealed. "He seems a little... different. But in a good way. I'm not sure anything will be made of it though."

"Maybe it will," Anna suggested hopefully, clutching her basket closer to her chest as the cold picked up.

Maeve nodded almost solemnly. "I do hope so." Silence descended across the two of them for a few moments until the older woman spoke up, a little more loudly than before, "Well we best be moving, otherwise we'll freeze to death here." Anna laughed quietly. "Unless you fancy going for a brew? I know a lovely place."

Anna was instantly filled with regret, knowing that she had to decline. She still had the rest of their shopping to do, get back home, wash, ready herself for work and start on dinner so Sybil could take over just before she left. It was their routine of sorts whenever their shifts fell like this. She explained to Maeve and apologised.

"Don't be sorry, dear. You get on and get home. Otherwise this cold will do you more harm than good."

"Another time, though?" Anna asked, reaching out her spare hand to rest upon Maeve's wrist.

The older lady smiled, "Definitely. Now off you get. See you soon."

Anna bid Mrs Bates farewell and continued with her shop. It took her longer than usual to pay for the fruit, the queue taking a while because of a poor, old lady confused about the change she had on her, and when she returned home Sybil was already there.

"You're later than usual," Sybil commented, taking the baskets from her friend helpfully and placing them in their kitchen area.

The flat was very much an open space, one large room incorporating both the kitchen, living area and dining room, with the three adjoining rooms containing their separate bedrooms and a bathroom. The area was lovely though, and very spacious, and the light from the large bay window gave the room life, and the comfortable furniture and the decor the two of them had chosen made it homely. It made it theirs.

Anna smiled in thanks as she was offloaded the heavy baskets, "Some poor old lady couldn't count her change at the stall." Anna knew she was short for time, but regardless she sat herself down at their table and sighed in relief, finally being able to rest her feet, even after the short bus journey. "And I saw Mrs Bates. We got chatting for a while. It was lovely to see her again."

"That reminds me, your Sergeant Bates was quiet again today." Sybil spoke as she unpacked the shopping. "I thought he might have spoken to me, I mentioned papa, but he just seemed as distant as ever."

"He just needs time," Anna explained, before remembering the way Sybil had opened her sentence. "And he isn't my Sergeant Bates, Syb."

"Oh I know," Sybil replied, albeit with a knowing smile as she unpacked the pastries and set them aside on a plate. "But he just seems to get on better with you."

"Does he?"

Sybil gave her a look. "You know he does."

Anna wasn't quite sure if he did, but she let it slide.

But before Anna could say anything else, Sybil revealed, "That also reminds me, my father will be in London the day after tomorrow. He has leave and he will spend a day or two here before catching the train up to Yorkshire for the rest of it."

"Oh?" Anna asked, happy that Sybil had family visiting but not entirely sure why she sounded and looked quite suggestively at her. She offered, "Does he want to stay here for that time? I can spend a few nights in the nurse's home if he wanted to."

"Oh no, he will stay with my Aunt Rosamund, his sister." Anna nodded in acceptance and smiled. "But what I meant to say was he intends to visit Sergeant Bates while he is here."

Anna could feel her eyes widening, and then she smiled slightly. She wasn't quite sure how Sergeant Bates would take that, although she hoped to the heavens that it would help him. "Does he know?"

"I think so," Sybil replied. "Papa said he had written a letter to him."

Anna nodded and made a mental note to ask the Sergeant about it later when she saw him. Then Anna looked back up and saw Sybil looking at her suggestively again and decided to turn the tables and begin a new form of enquiry.

"Well how's your chauffeur back at home?"

"Stop it, Anna." Sybil didn't even turn around. But as Anna remained silent, she did turn around, but only to wave a menacing finger at her friend. "We have only written twice."

Anna raised her eyebrow.

"OK, maybe more than twice."

Anna smirked in victory.

"Stop it!" Anna found a dish cloth being thrown in her direction.

"Has he not been drafted yet?" Anna asked curiously as she picked off some fruit from the bowl and eased her hungry stomach.

"He said he went for his medical, but something about a heart murmur," Sybil explained. "Anyway, he was deemed fit to stay at home."

He was one of the lucky ones, Anna thought to herself. Seeing everything she did at the hospital, she knew the horrors that these men went through - or at least she knew the effects of them.

"Well what about your love life?" Sybil asked suddenly and Anna burst out laughing.

"Love life?" Her laughter died down, and she picked at another bit of fruit, popping it into her mouth as her thoughts became a little more poignant. "Love doesn't mix well with war."

Sybil looked across her at friend and frowned. She was about to say something in response when Anna suddenly stood and announced that she had better get ready for work, else she'd be late.

* * *

><p>John sat up nervously in bed, wringing his hands together and often moving one of them to rub his neck as he waited for his visitor. He was used to visits from his mother now, and often an older cousin that lived in London and owned a bookshop, but this was different. He had read the letter a week or so ago and Nurse Smith has reminded him a few evenings ago on her shift, explaining that Sybil had informed her of Captain Crawley's plans.<p>

And now he was nervous.

He knew as much from the letter Captain Crawley had sent that he had saved his life and that the slightly older man was incredibly grateful and considered himself to be in the debt of his Sergeant. _Former_. That was the only word that came to John's mind.

John also hated to be the centre of attention, and he knew that during and after the visit he would be. He did not want to be pitied because of it or considered a hero when he was anything but.

He rubbed his neck again, sighing loudly.

"Anything I can get for you, Sergeant Bates?"

Her voice appeared through the fog of his worrisome thoughts. Her voice was almost an anchor to hold onto and bring him to the surface as he felt himself falling towards the seabed. She just seemed to have that effect on him.

"A different life?"

John chanced eye contact with her and noticed that she was looking particularly mournful following his statement.

"Try not to think like that," Anna advised as she tucked his duvet around him and checked briefly that nothing was amiss. "Maybe there's a reason for you being here... of course it's a horrid thought, but my mother always said that things happen for a reason."

"So God thought there was a reason I should lose my leg? That I should be a cripple?" John raised his voice angrily.

"I've upset you," Anna stated.

John suddenly stopped being angry and looked at her carefully. He found his anger disappearing and he started to understand her point of view, slightly. He shook his head and sighed, "No, you haven't upset me. I just wonder why -"

"Bates, my dear fellow!"

Anna jumped and turned around to greet the man she knew to be Captain Crawley, momentarily chastising him for his abrupt arrival. She honestly thought Sergeant Bates had been about to talk to her.

"Sir," Bates acknowledged his superior with a nod and extended his hand for the other man to take and shake.

Anna excused herself with a curt nod and a smile in the direction of Sergeant Bates. John watched her go.

"How have you been?" Captain Crawley started, taking the liberty of sitting in the seat positioned next to Bates' bed. He then realised the enormity of the situation and his face fell. "Of course how careless of me."

"Not careless, sir. I've been fine." John responded, managing a tight smile.

"Have you, Bates?" He shifted uncomfortably, knowing that he had probably heard about his situation. But neither of them said anything more, suddenly seeming embarrassed and knowing that the conversation had probably fallen into uncomfortable territory. "You'll be glad to hear that William Mason is well. He has leave at the moment too, so he will be heading to Yorkshire to stay with his father for the duration." Bates smiled at this. "He had a lucky escape... that day. Cuts and bruises mainly."

"He's lucky."

"And so am I, Bates." Robert sighed and smiled. "I know I have written and thanked you, but I'm not sure if words could ever be enough. You saved my life."

"I wouldn't say -"

"Oh but I would. And I hoped that being able to move you along the list for your... replacement limb would go some of the way to expressing my gratitude." Robert watched as Bates looked away, not quite able to understand his expression. "And I know that my wife, and my girls, are grateful to you as well. And if there is anything, and by that I mean anything that I can do I should ask you to let me know. God knows this war has been making men out of us all, and I know for certain that you will come out of this, Bates."

Bates opened his mouth but did not know what to say.

"Because we have to, don't we? If the war has taught us anything, it is to appreciate all that we have left, because heaven knows they've had a good go at taking it away."

"They have, sir. But I must admit sometimes it's hard to see past this place... to see a future beyond it."

"But there is, Bates. There is a future for all of us. There must be. It's what I hold onto."

Bates saw that Robert was starting to get emotional. He shifted uncomfortably again but watched him carefully and was about to speak up when matron came over and interrupted.

"Sergeant Bates, it's time for your therapy session. Nurse Smith will take you over there."

Robert stood up and straightened his uniform. He coughed and turned to the matron.

"I should be going. I'm meeting my sister for some tea." He turned to Bates this time and spoke, "But remember what I said Bates, and do keep in touch. It will be nice to know how you are getting along."

"Thank you, sir. It's much appreciated."

* * *

><p>It had been a week since he had received his prosthetic, and slowly he was becoming accustomed to walking with it, although he had still not been outside. He went to the classes that the matron strictly told him to go to, but apart from that he preferred to sit and read. Not going outside helped to make it all seem less <em>real. <em>Even if the news he had received in the last weeks made him start to think.

Today, however, he was struggling. He found that some days were better than others, and most of the time he would still use crutches. The feeling of having the prosthetic attached to his leg was still a foreign one, and it made it difficult to walk properly without stumbling. Sometimes he would use the crutches Nurse Smith left at his bedside – she always seemed to smile when he did – but since last week he had tried to manage without them.

He was attempting to walk to the small library and choose a new book. It was a room with very tall bookshelves, and John had only been once before but he had never felt more at home in his life when he walked in. It was like whenever he walked into a bookshop and felt a sense of homecoming. It was a place where he could spill his heart and no one would tell a soul.

But even as he clutched onto the wall for support down the corridor, he was struggling to keep his balance.

Unknown to him, someone was watching.

Anna stood at the other end of the corridor just ahead of him, having come this way to look for a book herself, and once she had seen him, she hung back a little. She noticed he was struggling, however she knew that if she made her presence known he would refuse any sort of help.

But regardless of his pride, she felt like she was starting to understand him. And she thought he might slowly be starting to accept her.

However, as he suddenly lost his balance and fell, she gasped, revealing her location.

As she rushed over to him, he looked up and winced as he saw her, "Sergeant Bates!"

He flinched as she attempted to help him up.

"No. Leave me. I can manage."

He was quite abrasive, but Anna had become used to it. She rose to her feet and stood to watch him struggle, his hands clutching at the walls as he attempted to regain his composure.

"I can do it on my own," he added as he was almost to his feet, just to prove himself.

"There is no need to struggle when there are people willing to help." She was met with a glare. Anna simply raised her eyebrows. "Where were you going?"

He muttered, "To the library."

"Well, at least let me show you the right way."

Anna smiled and placed a hand on his arm. It was warm. But he shook it off instantly, almost as if help was a scolding touch. Anna raised her hands in mock surrender as if to say 'fine' and nodded in the opposite direction to the one he had been going in.

When John realised that he had been walking the wrong way, he chastised himself. These corridors were so confusing it was no wonder he had forgotten the way.

They both walked there in silence, he walking slowly with his pronounced limp and Nurse Smith falling back into a comfortably slow walk to keep up with him. It angered him that she had to do that. He tried to walk a little faster, to show that he could manage, but Nurse Smith simply held onto his arm and kept him back.

He could not find the energy within him to shake her off. He accepted her helping touch and Anna found herself smiling, celebrating this tiny victory.

When they reached the library door, she moved to open it, and he watched her incredulously. When she turned to face him, he asked, "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"I can manage on my own."

Anna rolled her eyes. "I have no doubt you can, Sergeant. But who says I wasn't coming this way for a book myself?"

He scowled.

"You're not the only one who reads, Sergeant Bates."

She pushed the door open further and motioned for him to enter before her, tongue in her cheek. He walked past her uncomfortably with a grimace and immediately set about finding his choice of book.

Anna followed him inside and closed the door behind them. She watched as he eyed up the room and seemed to fix on an area that might look of some interest to him. As he started to walk over to the section, she noticed that his choice was poetry.

And she found herself smiling. She had seen him reading poetry before, but now as she thought of it more closely, she could imagine him reading it. It suited him, somewhat. Anna found herself being pulled over to him.

When John realised that she had followed him over, he turned to her and scowled.

"Have you ever written it?" she asked, looking at the rather impressive collection before them. The donations that had been raised throughout the country funded for a vast collection of books. She scanned the collection for a title that would suit her tastes.

John laughed. "Poetry? Hardly."

"But you like to read it?"

He nodded.

"I find poetry the most imaginative, and inclusive," Anna revealed as she attempted to start a conversation. "It takes on a different meaning every time you read it."

"Quite," John replied, and he even found himself smiling. Talking about literature took his mind away from other things. It had always been a pleasurable escape for him.

He also found himself starting to pick up things about her. She could obviously read and write, she had received a good education. He found himself listening as she talked about her father, a farmer in Yorkshire, who had his own book collection. It was nothing large, but it was enough for him to be proud of, and as a child she would always enjoy scanning the titles. He wondered how old she must be.

Turning his attention away from the conversation, however, he looked back at the book he had chosen. It was a selection of Hardy poetry. Morbid at times, but still quite hopeful, or at least one could interpret it in that way. He thought that suited his mood perfectly.

Anna must have seen him eyeing the book though, because she suddenly grabbed the stool sat beside them and climbed upon it, her hand hovering over the area he had been looking to.

"No, I can–"

"Which one?" Anna asked in a light-hearted, almost sing-song, voice. He shook his head at her tenacity.

He mumbled the title and the author and she picked it out for him. She then turned around and handed it to him with a small, knowing smile from her unusual position above him. She remembered something her mother used to say. She remembered the conversation she had shared with Mrs Bates some weeks ago.

"Take it. Life becomes much easier when you learn to accept the help people are offering you, Sergeant. It makes you no lesser a person. And it doesn't mean others do either. That's what my mum says."

John found himself looking up into her eyes, and for the first time he realised that there was no pity there. She thought no less of him for his injury. All she wanted to do was help. Her eyes were shining and her smile was genuine.

"Thank you." He smiled and accepted the book.

* * *

><p>Two days later when Anna was on her rounds, she noticed his empty bed with alarm, but when she looked over at the open doors leading out to the gardens, she noticed him stood beside them with the set of crutches she had given him, waiting for her with a small, shy smile.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN (2): **Things will start looking up from here... sort of.


End file.
